The prestige of the financial district faded into the gray, crumbling outskirts of the city's "Lower Sector." Here, the neon lights were flicking out, and the air tasted of salt and rust. This was the side of the world the Lian family pretended didn't exist—a place where the poor came to wither away.
Lian stepped out of a plain, nondescript black SUV, his expensive charcoal suit replaced by a simple, oversized black hoodie and dark trousers. He looked like any other youth from the streets, save for the way he walked. Even in the shadows, his movements had the grace of a panther.
He stopped in front of a rusted iron gate that led to a basement beneath an old textile factory. To the world, this was a condemned building. To the desperate, it was "The Jade Clinic."
As he entered, the smell of antiseptic hit him, mingled with the earthy, bitter scent of boiling herbs. The room was filled with makeshift cots. Elderly men with hacking coughs and mothers clutching feverish children sat in a line, their faces etched with the weariness of the forgotten.
"Doctor Lin is here!" a young girl whispered, her eyes widening.
Lian didn't correct her. "Lin" was the name he used here—a fragment of his old soul's identity. He didn't wear gloves here. Instead, he walked straight to a basin and washed his hands with a focused, ritualistic intensity.
The Haphephobia was still there, a constant, snarling beast in his mind, but here, it was different. When he looked at these people, he didn't see socialites or power-hungry directors. He saw the same loneliness he felt. He saw himself—discarded by a world that only valued the shining exterior.
He approached a woman holding a toddler whose skin was a sickly, mottled gray.
"He won't stop shaking, Doctor," the woman sobbed. "The hospital said we didn't have the insurance... they turned us away."
Lian didn't speak. He reached out. His fingers hovered for a split second, the psychological wall in his mind screaming Danger, but he forced his hand down. He touched the child's forehead.
Searing heat. A rapid, thready pulse.
Lian's eyes narrowed, shifting into the clinical "God-mode" of his former life. "Atypical Meningitis," he murmured. "Combined with severe malnutrition. If he's not treated in the next hour, he'll suffer permanent brain damage."
He moved with a speed that left the mother gasping. He didn't use the Western machines—they were too loud, too expensive for this place. Instead, he opened a weathered wooden chest. Inside were rows of silver needles and jars of potent, hand-ground Eastern herbs.
He began the acupuncture. His hands, which had been cold and trembling at the family dinner, were now steady as mountains. He struck the pressure points with terrifying precision, rerouting the "Qi" and forcing the fever to break. At the same time, he brewed a thick, pungent tea, forcing the child to swallow the bitter liquid.
"Breathe," Lian whispered, his voice losing its icy edge. "Fight it. The world isn't allowed to take you yet."
For the next three hours, Lian was no longer a CEO or a cold-blooded heir. He was a healer. He moved from cot to cot, stitching wounds, resetting bones, and prescribing herbal remedies that cost him thousands but were free for the patients.
This was his "Hope"—the single day of light in his everlasting darkness. By helping them survive, he felt, for a fleeting moment, like his own existence had a purpose beyond revenge.
The Shadow in the CornerAs the sun began to hint at the horizon, Lian sat on a wooden stool, wiping the sweat from his brow. The clinic was quiet now, the patients sleeping fitfully.
"You're quite the contradiction, aren't you?"
The voice came from the shadows near the entrance.
Lian froze. His hand instinctively went to a hidden scalpel in his sleeve. He stood up, the "Sovereign" mask snapping back into place instantly. "Who's there? This is private property."
A man stepped out into the dim light of a flickering bulb. He was tall, dressed in an expensive trench coat that looked wildly out of place in the grimy basement. His hair was slightly tousled, and a playful, fox-like smirk played on his lips.
It was the same man who had been watching the security feeds.
"Private property?" the man chuckled, tilting his head. "I suppose it is. Though I doubt the 'Great Lian Family' knows their delicate Omega son spends his nights playing Saint in a basement."
Lian's eyes turned into daggers. "Who are you?"
The man didn't answer immediately. He walked closer, his eyes scanning the clinic with an intelligence that felt like it was stripping Lian's secrets bare. "I saw you at the race. A demon behind the wheel. Then I saw you at the office—a shark in a suit. And now... a healer with the hands of a god."
He stopped just a few feet away, invading Lian's space. Lian's heart began to hammer. The Haphephobia flared, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin. This man's energy was different—it wasn't the dull greed of the directors or the frantic grief of his family. It was something sharp, cunning, and dangerously bright.
"My name is Jin-Ho," the man said, his voice a low, melodic hum. "But you can call me the man who's going to make your life very, very complicated."
Jin-Ho reached out as if to tuck a stray hair behind Lian's ear.
Lian recoiled, his breath hitching, his body locking up in a sudden, violent panic. "Don't... touch me!"
Jin-Ho stopped his hand an inch away. He didn't look offended. Instead, his eyes sparkled with a terrifying realization. "Ah... I see. You can save the world, but you can't stand the weight of a single finger."
He leaned in closer, his scent—something like rain and expensive tobacco—filling Lian's senses. "What a beautiful, broken thing you are, Little Phoenix. I think I've found my new favorite hobby."
Lian regained his footing, his face pale but his expression murderous. "Leave. Before I ensure you never walk again."
Jin-Ho laughed, a genuine, delighted sound. "I'm leaving. For now. But remember, Lian... you can hide from the world, but you can't hide from a fox who's already caught your scent."
With a wink, Jin-Ho turned and vanished into the morning mist.
Lian stood alone in the clinic, his hands shaking so much he had to grip the table to stay upright. The secret he had worked so hard to keep was no longer his alone. The Fox had found the King, and for the first time, Lian felt a spark of something he hadn't felt in two lifetimes.
Pure, unadulterated annoyance.